


Saints and Curses

by greenflyer13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Blood, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:15:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenflyer13/pseuds/greenflyer13
Summary: Wolfstar based loosely on Beauty and the Beast.The Potters are the Lord and Lady of the Valley, although this position is contested by the Blacks, who might have even worse plans up their sleeve. Sirius follows his brother into danger and finds something else entirely.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	1. Lords of the Valley

Sirius Black was bored. It was a lazy afternoon, and his book had fallen almost closed on his lap a long time ago. He had been reading again – he was always reading, anything he could get his hands on from the village or from the Potter library. But there were only so many books in this small valley, and he had read most of them already, and this one just wasn’t catching his attention. It was a novel, the type his father hated him reading, about a prince and a princess and a daring quest and monsters and rogues. It was one of his favorites. 

James teased him about being a romantic, which was kind of funny – it was sort of true, that Sirius would like a partner, someone to give life meaning and sweep him off his feet. But he didn’t care about that, and marriage prospects as the gay ex-lordling were quite small. 

What he wanted, what he _really_ wanted, was an adventure – something to do, some epic quest to give him purpose. 

James had his purpose already, and his partner. Lily was wonderful, a sister Sirius never realized he wanted, and he was proud of the both of them. When James’ parents passed or resigned, they would be ready to be Lord and Lady of the Valley – the protectors of the people, and the bond between their small corner of the world and the far-off King. 

When the figure appeared on the path from the village, he thought at first that it was James himself – he had seen him on that path often enough when he was fumbling through courting Lily, the village witch. The rider had the same dark hair and same gentle approach to their horse, but when he noticed himself watching he realized his idle minded mistake – the rider was too stiff, chin too proud. It was his brother.

Sirius’ stomach dropped, and he went to find James to help greet him – whatever his thoughts had been a moment ago about adventure, this was likely to be a conflict he didn’t want to face alone. 

What was this now, another plea for him to return? To marry a woman, and make an heir for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black? He didn’t think so, as he had made his thoughts on that subject clear enough when he left, but alternatives might be worse – some argument between the old houses, or an outright challenge of their position as his blasted parents thought they should be Lord and Lady of the Valley themselves. 

This was absurd, of course. The Potters had been the Lords since anyone could remember – and before that, it was the House of the Pass. Not that anyone believed all of that old tale anyway. No one in living memory had gone through the pass, or at least no one remembered that they did – never mind that it was the shortest path on the way from the Valley to the king, it was also probably full of faeries, or wood nymphs, or other such creatures. Not that that was as dangerous as the mountain range on the opposite side, the east – that range was taller and full of dragons and sphinxes and spiders as big as them both, and hydras, if you believed in that sort of thing, and although the valley was protected by the witches guild, that range was enough to be a border to the King’s land completely. Without the pass, the only path to the King was south through the Potter’s land, next to the southern bound of the sea, and then back up through the mainland. Which is why the Potters had been chosen by the people and the King as the Protectors of the Valley, not that that mattered to the Blacks, whose estate was high on the slopes of the connecting mountains of the north. 

Which was just one reason it made no sense for Regulus to come to the Potters.

James had evidently been notified of Regulus’ approach already as Sirius found him hurrying out of the corridor to his office – well, his father’s office, but James had been picking up as much of his duties as possible for a while now. 

“What do you think he wants?”

“Saints if I know, James, I haven’t spoken to him for years.” This wasn’t technically true. Sirius had tried to talk to Regulus many times – sent him letters that never got responses. Some part of the sick, twisting feeling in his gut was guilt – the guilt of an older brother who should have taken better care of his kin. He should have gotten Regulus out of there long ago. 

James seemed to pick up on his anxiety and didn’t try to make any more conversation as they both headed out to the courtyard and to the front gates to await his arrival. It wasn’t long before the tight clip of hooves brought the stiff form of the young lord Black, horse decked with the green of St. Salazar. Sirius almost felt as if the sound didn’t quite match up, that something was off as if he was dreaming or the sound was echoing, but it was probably just his spinning head. 

“To you and your saints.” The greeting from Regulus was just barely adequate as an address from the son of a lord to the son of the Lord of the Valley, but that he was civil at all was somewhat of a relief.

“To you and yours.”

“I request an audience with my brother.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.” James’ voice was harsh, and although Sirius knew it was his protection and loyalty, the words still hit him oddly. James would call him a Potter – call him Sirius Potter, and claim his patron saint was St. Godric. And maybe it was only his thoughts this afternoon, his wild thoughts of adventure and not-quite-belonging that made him think that maybe, maybe there was some other name that was for him, some other house and some other saint (although, it could very well be he belonged to St. Godric anyway, whose protection and favor fell most to the brave). Maybe it was only that he missed his brother.

“I’ll talk to him.” Sirius felt the words leaving his lips, even though he hadn’t quite meant to say them. He felt James’ eyes on him, but he only gave him a short nod and followed Regulus (now on foot, with one of the guards holding his horse) to a shady corner of the courtyard and stood facing him, not quite knowing what was coming next. 

“Mother and Father are sending me through the pass.”

Of all of the scenarios that had crossed his mind, this was not one of them.

“Why would they do that?” What Sirius had meant to say was _No, don’t go. Stay here with me. Stay safe._ But he couldn’t quite get the words out. He hadn’t seen his brother – for Regulus was still his brother, no matter that Walburga and Orion were not his family – he hadn’t seen his brother in years. 

“They… believe that it isn’t cursed, and that it is safe for travel. They think if we can find a path and make a road that’s easy enough to travel, it’ll put them close enough to the city of the king that they’ll be named Lord and Lady of the Valley.”

“They have to know that’s insane! No one has gotten through there for years, and –”

“They think that’s all myth – no, listen to me Sirius, I don’t have much time. They found an old storyteller named Bins who’s been blessed by St. Bathilda. He told them that people used to try to go through there, after the House of the Valley fell, and they always came back some time later remembering nothing but having horrible dreams for years. Even people who came to close to the path got pulled in somehow, and the same thing happened… They want me to go, and to find whatever’s guarding the pass, so that they can take the pass and take what they think is theirs.” These last words had been said increasingly quickly, and with increasing venom. 

“So don’t go. Stay with me.”

“I don’t think that will work anymore. I think if they don’t do something soon, this valley will have war. That’s why I came here, I needed to tell you, to warn you… Sirius, I don’t think what they’re doing is right. I’ve been praying to St. Salazar – no, Sirius, listen to me,” for Sirius had made a noise of derision, “I’ve been reading about him and I don’t think they got him right. They think he’s about purity and about blood, and they think they’re better because he is their saint and nothing else. They’ll do anything to put themselves ahead.”

“Is that not what his followers believe? That they’re worthy and anyone different is not?” Sirius couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. It had been the most pious of the Black family that had most vehemently disowned him as soon as he had shown he was not planning on producing heirs. 

“I don’t think so. I’ve been talking to Bins too and doing my own research – St. Salazar was originally the saint of war, plans, and ambition, and the purity only came in afterwards. It was only when this land became peaceful and the wars ended that the purity came in, I don’t know how – maybe it was some perverse sense of loyalty, to king and country and land, and anger from war. The sense of “us” and “them” got out of balance, and if they continue…” 

Sirius couldn’t quite process what he was saying. The purity aspect of the saint had been so emphasized when he was a child that this new perspective was somewhat hard to take in.

“I’m telling you I’ve been praying to St. Salazar because I think something is going wrong. They’re growing suspicious of me. I don’t think they’re telling me everything, and I think they’re trying to contact a warlock.”

Sirius felt as if he were going through whiplash. First his brother had appeared out of nowhere and renounced the preaching of the house of Black, and then sounded worried about them trying to contact a warlock? Not that Sirius could say he was totally surprised about this new piece of news – he always thought the Blacks were capable of horrible things.

Warlocks were witches (who could be any gender) that went bad, or maybe who just let their magic consume them. There were rumors that warlocks could be good, but that was very rare, and warlocks were rare enough.

The story was, it was only good warlocks, or maybe just very powerful and determined warlocks who were most often good, that became saints, and that this only happened if a warlock gave themselves to become part of the magic of the universe and keep the world in line. There were new saints and old saints, large saints and small saints. There were shrines to saints that had existed in a time before anyone’s memory, and could occasionally be stumbled over in the wilderness by ordinary folk, although if you asked you could probably get a witch who could sense them to point them out to you. Most saints were saints of something, like how St. Rowena was the patron saint of all scholars, and books, and puzzles, but some saints had no particular domain, or no one had discovered their domain, like St. Lovegood. Most large houses dedicated themselves to a particular saint, although individuals could be blessed otherwise.

The problem was, warlocks were most often made by witches who wanted to become saints, to be worshiped or powerful, but didn’t know how – or weren’t able – to do so. And these were the warlocks whose fury and malice turned their magic against themselves, until it became more and more chaotic and burned itself up into nothingness. 

But an awful lot of damage could come into the world from that burning. 

Sirius could feel Regulus’ eyes on him, and he didn’t know what to think. Trying to find a path – trying to contact a warlock – that sounded like more than a threat to the Potters. If they found a path, they might not need a warlock. That sounded like a threat to the King. 

“I’m here because I need help. I need other eyes; I need to stop them... I need to go see if the pass is real, because I need to know… everything. If it is, I need to know how to stop them from going through it. And if I can’t stop them, I need someone else to know…”

Here Sirius couldn’t help his thoughts from turning to anger, and worry. Did he not have his _own_ friends? _Did he not have anyone to trust?_

“Sirius. Do you remember Kreacher?” This was the Black family butler. “He is my assistant now, and I think my parents have discovered his loyalty is to me exclusively. Recently, someone tried to poison him. I’ve been able to trust him, but no one else, and I couldn’t think of anyone else…”

“What do you need from me? From us?” Sirius knew this could be trouble, but he knew also that the Potter family would trust his judgement now as they perhaps wouldn’t trust Regulus. 

“I just need you to be on watch. I’ve taken this time I’m to be in the pass to tell you, and I’ll be late coming back, but I hope they don’t notice. I’ll be trying to contact you more, could you warn the witch girl Lily to expect a message?” 

Witches were one of the most reliable ways to send messages that couldn’t be intercepted. Sirius was watching him closely, because the “witch girl” was one of the people the Black family considered to be the least pure – she had come and settled in the village from outside of the valley, and had been noticeable as an outsider because of her bright red hair. But Regulus held no secret contempt, and Sirius could not stop from reaching out to embrace him – stiff as he still was in the Potter courtyard.

“I will. I’ll keep watch. Be safe.” 

And before Sirius knew it, Regulus was gone.


	2. House of the Pass

Remus did not remember much.

He remembered his father – bright and important and somehow distant, even when he was in the same room. He knew he should love him – knew, but didn’t feel. He was the Lord of the Valley, the ambassador to the King, and protector of the people, and he had very little time for his small son.

He remembered his mother – quiet and subdued, but with a power like electricity that Remus could feel whenever she walked. He loved his mother most of all, happiest when he got her attention instead of a nursemaid or his governess. She might not always pay attention to him, but at least she would let him sit on her lap while she was studying her magic, and she whispered to him that someday he might become a witch himself.

He remembered his prayers, dedicating his house and himself to St. Minerva. 

He remembered the fall. 

He was quite small at the time, probably not more than seven, and he knew something had gone earth-shatteringly, electrically wrong but he didn’t know what. He remembered people rushing around the castle, hurrying to leave, and his mother telling him he must be very, very brave – and then nothing at all.

He remembered the first full moon.

He was alone, in a castle that was a ruin, and he was a monster. There was no one there, and no one who could help him escape his pain and hunger and rage… and then he was himself again, full of mind, but body still monstrous. He wept.

That was a long time ago. A very long time, if Remus was correct in his guess that time passed differently within the ruined walls, but still; it was long enough that he had become a witch in his own, and he had lifted the walls back to themselves. He had trapped himself within, hoping to harm no one and nothing. He grew to be an adult, he guessed, but he had very little reference as his body still grew; he was now taller than his father had ever been, if not twice as tall. With his magic and with the nebulous motion of time around his castle, he would guess he was around 25 years old. At least the moon cycle was constant to him, where time was different, and there weren’t five moons per month – one was more than enough. 

And at least he had all of his House’s books. It had taken him a while to figure out his claws were retractable – he had spent a long time trying simply to figure out how to live, and he was glad he hadn’t tried to read the books right away, or he would have shredded them all. He was glad his mother had taught him to read before the fall. He was lucky. 

He was lucky that his mother had thought so far ahead – she had made simulacrums to take care of him if anything had happened to her, a stroke of luck without which Remus surely would have died. They were bright memories of his childhood – silvery wisps that sometimes took the form of birds of prey, helping him and protecting him. It was them that first made him aware of the man he often saw close to his father – a tall, dark-haired handsome man who may have been his father’s counselor, named Phineas. 

He had noticed when his father was holding trials that his simulacrums protected him. They would sometimes stand between himself and the guilty party, even if his father had not made the judgement yet, as they would the angry housekeeper, Filch, or a mad dog – and his simulacrums did not like Phineas, nor the witch in his company, Greyback. 

It was not until much later that Remus would wonder if Phineas had anything to do with the fall – _wasn’t he part of a different House, from the valley? How did he worm his way into his father’s council, if his wife’s magic knew he wasn’t to be trusted? Should I have warned him – said something, made some protest, somehow?_

In his adult mind, he knew it was unfair to place such burden of responsibility on such a small child, but that child was himself, and he could not help it. 

And it was Phineas that he thought of first when his new guest arrived.

After Remus had learned magic and built his walls, his own personal prison, he tried to cure himself. He tried many, many times, but for all of his research and all of his spells, he could no more return to what he once was than transform himself into a thunderstorm. By this time, it was not his form that he hated the most, it was loneliness. He had his books, of course, and his simulacrums – which he found himself adding to and complexifying more and more, as his mother’s faded and he wanted more interesting and engaging companions (no mind that his were wolf-shaped; a slight imitation of his own form, but no more distressing than having claws and fangs where one should not). 

Remus didn’t think he would have survived if a cat had not adopted him (for he had had no say in it himself); it was a small tabby cat with black marks around the eyes. He found himself talking to her often, telling her about his life, but as powerful as cats were at breaking the stillness of an old house, they were no substitute for human conversation. He had no cure for himself, and he had no cure for loneliness. 

When he found in old spell-books on curses that his cure might come from someone else, someone unversed in magic, it was like a sliver of hope – was that not what he was thinking himself, that he needed the companionship of others? It was no more than a chapter in a single book, but it was what he needed to enact his plan. Minnie (the cat; he knew she deserved a more powerful name than that but didn’t want to give her one for fear that she might already have one for herself) had been with him at that time, blinking at him and purring, and he took it as a sign. 

If he was going to bring people to him, he needed them to be safe. 

They could not come on his full moon, as he had no comprehension of himself at that time. His Simulacrums could only do so much – he once returned to himself and found the book he had been reading torn to shreds, and he almost always awoke with new scars on his body from his own claws. 

They could not stay, unless they wanted to – he had been a prisoner for so long, he would not force his jail on someone else. Of course, they would leave, who would want to stay with a monster? But on the other hand, how long could he stay here, by himself, and survive? 

They could not remember him, or this place, when they leaved. Remus knew that if rumor of him spread, it would do no good – he would have more people wanting to bring his head to the King than let him stay in the Path forever, and since the cure specified that only someone who could do no magic, but could read it, could undo this curse, it would do no good to attract witches who could not help him, or worse yet, warlocks. 

So Remus had made his plan – all of the paths near him, not just the Path that lead from the Valley to the land of the King, would lead to his castle. He would lead them there, he would watch from afar while they found themselves in these new circumstances and would ask them if they would stay. 

He knew they would say no. He knew that they would not look at him, that they would cower in fear – for who could love a beast? Not even in the wildest tales he had read had someone such as himself had a happy ending – and why should he? He was a monster, he was fangs and claws and magic, and he should have died with his parents. It would be enough to just hear another human voice. 

So it was with this boy, this young man. He hadn’t had a guest in a long time. He was desperate to talk to someone – and _this boy doesn’t look so much like Phineas, does he?_ It was just his jaw, maybe something about his eyes – well, no, was it a trick of Remus’ memory, or was his hair the same, as well? _Could he be related somehow?_ He looked beautiful, and Remus would have been drawn in, but for that he also looked tight, and tense, and his face had lines that belonged on one older than him.

It was his hesitation that was eventually the undoing of his plans. He should have let him go right away – he should have said hello, saw him flinch from his form, removed his memories, and sent him on his way. It was nearing the full moon, and Remus shouldn’t have waited – especially since he had already made the mistake of sending back his horse. They had never come on horse before, and he realized too late that a horse without a rider might cause alarm. 

But hesitate he did. He used his magic to serve the guest, who didn’t seem as distressed as Remus thought he should be to find himself within an enchantment. He let the boy wander through the castle while keeping himself concealed, just to see what he would do, because this one, somehow, seemed different. 

He should have been more careful.

When Remus finally did reveal himself to his odd guest, he knew he had made a mistake. How had he not seen the knife he carried? 

In the past, his guests had been frozen at the sight of him, not moving, not speaking. The braver ones had thanked him for his hospitality, in a shaking voice, before they asked to be released; most others had just shook their heads no at the prospect of staying with him. One elderly woman who came from the direction of the mainland had talked to him before she asked him to let her go, apparently sensing his loneliness, but that was all – he should have known this one would be different.

As soon as Remus removed the invisibility spell he had placed on himself, the boy attacked. The knife barely grazed his arm when Remus’ simulacrums surrounded the boy, pushing him back, protecting their master – why had they not defended Remus before? Why had they not shown him this young man was a threat? 

The pain was nothing new to Remus, nor the disgust and fear so clearly etched into that handsome face. Remus didn’t want to distress this young man more than necessary; the spell to whisk him away to safety came easily to the surface of his skin. It would be easier to place the proper spells to remove his memory and send him back if he were locked up, and as disturbing as it would be for the time being, Remus couldn’t spare any more time before his full moon came upon him. 

Which was why it was such a problem when a second young man came crashing through his doors, holding the same horse, looking bedraggled and – radiant. 

_Saints._


	3. St. Minerva, Patron Saint of Change

“You’re sure he said _through_ the pass?” 

Sirius took every effort not to roll his eyes. Peter, as one of the Potter family counselors, was surely only trying to gather all of the details he could, but Sirius had no patience for him in the face of his anxiety.

“Yes, as I’ve said for the fifth time. Apparently, the Blacks think they could have a chance at being the Lords of the Valley if only they have a clear path to the king – but that’s not all. Regulus said he thinks they’re trying to contact a warlock.” 

James and Lily gave each other a worried look. They had heard this already; Sirius had told them everything before they put together this meeting with the entire Order. Peter was there, as well as Marlene, Dorcas, Frank, Alice, Elphias, and James’ parents, Fleamont and Euphemia. 

Peter let out a high-pitched titter. “A _warlock_? But that makes it sound like…” 

“War.” Sirius was glad for James’ interruption. “And Sirius, you trust him, correct?”

Sirius had told James more, about what his brother had said about St. Salazar and the mislead blood purity. He had told him how confused he felt, how anxious he was for his brother, and how guilty he felt for not doing something to help him sooner… but this time, he needed for all of the others to believe him, too. “Yes.” Sirius looked James in the eyes, hoping that his conviction would come through. “He’s not like the rest of them. I’d trust him with my life.” 

James nodded slowly. “Then that settles it.” 

Sirius huffed a sigh of relief, letting the conversation move past him to preparations and plans. Not having anything more to share at the moment, his eyes wandered back to the small shrines on the council table – the largest being to St. Godric, of course, but smaller ones on either side had been added for this meeting for St. Alastor and St. Peeves, the saints of protection and trickery. Sirius couldn’t get his brother’s words out of his mind – that St. Salizar wasn’t only about purity and ambition, but also about plans and plots and war. With the conflict at the center of their conversation, there should be a shrine here for him too. Sirius folded his hands together under the table as he had been taught as a child and sent him a silent prayer too. They would need all the support they could get. 

Sirius knew he should be paying more attention to the others. Currently they were debating how many they could recruit to stand against the Blacks, and if they should try to bolster their forces now or wait until they had more information, but he couldn’t stop thinking about his brother. It had been almost a day since he left, and he worried that that had been too much time wasted already. 

The knock on the door left a jolt in his stomach. 

“Come in,” James commanded, looking worried; Sirius knew as well as he did that no one would have interrupted this meeting for anything unimportant. 

A messenger entered, looking worried. “My lord. A riderless horse arrived… wearing the colors of St. Salazar. I believe it was the horse of young Lord Regulus Black.” With this, the messenger gave a short bow to Sirius, who felt again like his head was swimming – like he wasn’t hearing things right – like something terrible had happened and it was his fault, he had left his brother alone, and now he was in trouble, _again_. 

Sirius was on his feet and opened his mouth before he realized what he was going to do. “I’m going after him.” 

It took some convincing from James not to just rush off immediately, but Sirius had to concede that proper riding clothes and a traveling pack with food and some essentials were a good idea, not that Sirius could stomach eating anything until he found out what happened with Regulus. 

Lily had given him a small enchanted necklace to be able to backtrack where the horse had been. He had only been listening with half an ear when she had explained the spell; it took all the memory the horse’s equipment had to make, and wouldn’t work twice, so he needed to follow the path it showed him precisely. Not that that was a problem. Getting to his brother was the only thing he could focus on. 

He left James and Lily with a tight hug. 

He wasn’t surprised when they started climbing the pass. 

He knew that was where Regulus had wanted to go – how stupid had he been to actually let him? He had heard the rumors, they both had. Even if it was just that there was a guardian, what form would that take? Regulus could get seriously hurt, and it would be his fault. 

Sirius had expected the path to be wild and overgrown; no one had traveled here – well, no one had traveled and been able to tell the tale afterward – in living memory. And although he could tell the path may have been wider in the past, there was a clear direction. Not only that, but it seemed the plants had grown back in on themselves, rather than stray too close to the center of the path; it looked like a gardener had been carefully tending them and tying that way for years. Sirius didn’t dare take his eyes off the faint trail the necklace showed him, but as it got darker, he had the overwhelming feeling that if he looked behind him, the trail would be nowhere to be found. He was grateful for Lily’s necklace and the lantern that James had forced into his hand before he left. 

Sirius couldn’t have said how long it was before the ground changed – it was no longer dirt, but gravel, and the path became wider and wider. It wasn’t long before the path led to an iron gate, surrounded with a wall that was quickly lost from sight to the depths of the forest. 

Sirius dismounted. The necklace path lead clear though the gate, but it seemed to be closed now, and it looked as if it hadn’t been opened in ages. Sirius hadn’t realized he was breathing hard until he had to stop and think. How had this gate closed behind his horse? Not to mention his mind’s eye could see the dark wood get closer, behind him, trapping him, cutting him off – 

He held his lantern higher, looking for a way to open the gate, and his eyes fell on a small tabby cat that seemed to be staring straight at him. The cat was sitting on a shrine of a saint Sirius hadn’t heard of – St. Minerva. The stone seemed to be etched with an image of a cat, as well – how ironic. Or maybe a sign. 

“How do I get in?” Sirius spoke to the cat out loud, not expecting an answer. The cat seemed to judge him for a moment, and then stood up and stretched. For a moment, Sirius thought the cat would disappear into the woods, and felt the loss of it – he would be alone in the dark once again, with no clue what to do. But then the cat casually wound itself around a small leaver Sirius hadn’t seen before, tucked between the shrine and the wall, and then slipped through the bars in the gate and into the darkness beyond. 

Sirius took a deep breath and pulled the lever. He was rewarded with the creaking opening of the gate – as old as it was, the mechanism must have been well designed. 

The cat seemed to be waiting for him.

Sirius lead the horse quickly up through a wide courtyard to the main house drive. The previously clear path of the necklace was now jumbled; it seemed wherever his brother and this horse had separated, it was near. Regulus wouldn’t have brought his horse much further, anyway; if this was his destination, there seemed to be stables near, although all the buildings around him looked empty and abandoned. 

The sun was completely down, but the moon hadn’t come up yet, and the light from his lantern only fell so far. Sirius found himself following the cat; there was nothing else to do. 

What was St. Minerva the saint of? Was she the patron saint of this house, the fallen house of the Pass? _What had happened here?_ Sirius tried not to notice the gashes in some of the walls he passed. He knew taking his horse with him wouldn’t help, but he didn’t want to leave him somewhere he couldn’t see him until… until this was all over. Until whatever happened happened. He felt himself walking, faster and faster, running, drawn to the end. 

Before he knew it, Sirius found himself at the door of the manor – of the House of the Pass, because there was nothing else this could be. He pushed open the door. 

Whatever Sirius had been expecting, it wasn’t this. The air itself seemed to pause – was that a ghost, or some enchantment? What was that a silvery – fox? Wolf? And all of the lights here were lit, all of the candles perfectly placed and evenly used. His skin prickled uncomfortably with magic, easily recognizable from his visits to Lily’s study. 

This all Sirius was able to take in before his eyes fell on the Beast. 

Sirius knew from Lily that there were some things that humans couldn’t look at without being altered; one of the beasts from the eastern mountains the Witches Guild protected the valley against were the basilisks that could turn you to stone with a single glance. Sirius thought the Beast might be something like this – something that had melted his _self_ , something he could not possibly survive looking at without change. 

For this Beast, as fearsome as he was – taller than any human, at least ten feet, dark hair covering his face and a long cloak covering the rest of him, fangs probably as long as his hand, and a wolfish jaw – had human eyes. He had beautiful, scared, amber, lonely, _human_ eyes. 

Sirius, not knowing what he was doing, sent a silent prayer to St. Minerva.

The cat wound itself around Sirius’ feet, and he could look away – and his eyes fell to Regulus. 

Regulus was in a room adjacent to the main entrance – behind _bars_. 

Regulus had realized he was there at the same time. 

“Sirius – no – _run_!”

Regulus’ words had barely registered before Sirius was at his side, reaching for his hand. 

“I won’t leave you here.” 

“There’s no time.” The words came from behind him, voice rumbling deeper than he had ever heard before, and Sirius whipped around, hand still grabbing Regulus’. _No time for what?_ Sirius couldn’t let his brother get hurt, not again.

“Take me instead.” The words burst from Sirius’ lips. He didn’t know why he said that – would that even help? Looking at the Beast was easier this time around; he could tell the magic in the room was getting more intense, but he didn’t know towards what. 

“I’m sending him back now. You’ll be safe there.” 

Sirius felt the magic in the room crackle, wilder than he had ever felt before – 

He felt his brother’s hand disappear – 

He saw himself in a small room, bars on the doors and windows –

He saw a silvery wolf stand by his side, protecting him – 

He saw nothing else.


	4. St. Poppy, Patron Saint of Healing

Remus came to himself thinking of the man’s eyes. 

The full moons always took all of Remus’ energy, but this time seemed worse; he became aware of himself enough to recognize he was no longer a danger to himself or his surroundings and lapsed back into a comfortable blankness. 

Blank but for the man’s eyes. They were silver grey and wide, and they seemed to recognize him in a way no other visitor had. No one else had been able to look at him that directly; they saw his claws or his fangs and they could look no further.

Remus had tried to fit himself into clothing to make him look as human as possible, but he was no tailor, and his cloak was as close as he could get. Even if his guests recognized him as sentient, they never acknowledged him as _human_. And why should they? He was a beast – he was a monster, whatever he had been before. But this man had looked at him, and this man had seen something else. 

It was thoughts of this man that drifted Remus’ mind towards the present – what had happened to him, before the moonrise, that made him feel like this? He must have used too much magic, just before the change. He had been just about to wipe the younger man’s memory and send him away when… when the older one, _Sirius, he was called Sirius,_ had stormed in and offered to take his place. He hadn’t had time to explain… so he had sent the younger one back… and he had locked Sirius up, to ensure that he was safe… safe…

“… and St. Poppy keep him safe.” 

Remus struggled to shrug off the darkness and understand what was going on. He was not lying on stone floor, as he so often was, but on something soft. His simulacrums were still around him at least, which made sense. The cat must be there, too, because something more solid was touching his arm, cleaning a new wound he had no doubt given himself… but that seemed too soft to be a cat tongue… 

Remus’ eyes finally open and landed on the man – _Sirius_ – next to him. 

Remus must have made some sort of noise because Sirius was on his feet and across his bedroom immediately. His bedroom. He was lying in his own bed; he should have realized sooner that that was the only soft surface in the manor big enough for him. 

Remus realized he had sat up and focused on looking as peaceful and non-threatening as he could. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“I know.” Sirius’ silver eyes were fixed on him, and Remus hoped that he understood his look correctly to be more cautious than scared.

Remus looked around him slowly, taking in the chair next to his bed, the wash basin, and the bloody towel in Sirius’ hands. He must have been taking care of him; it was true that Remus seemed more exhausted than normal, but he could tell several cuts on his body were already bandaged. _Why?_

____

____

Now that a guest was here, in these strange circumstances, it seemed all conversation had left Remus’ head entirely. He cast about for something to say, landing on “Who is St. Poppy?” 

Sirius seemed startled into a smile by that question, and the beautiful sight almost made Remus lose his reply. “She’s the patron saint of healing. I might ask you, who is St. Minerva?” 

Remus felt the string of his memory go back to before the fall. He should have payed more attention as a child; as Saints were often an oral history, his knowledge of them was unusually lacking. “She is the patron saint of… change. Transformation.” He heard a soft mewl and looked down to find the tabby cat twirling through Sirius’ feet. “And I call that cat Minnie; she’s my only companion.” Remus tried to keep his voice light, knowing it was rough enough already, but the look of sorrow in Sirius’ eyes wasn’t lost on him. 

“She led me here to you. She, and the… wolves?” 

It took Remus a minute to understand what Sirius was talking about. The silvery shapes were still settled around the room; they usually fetched all he would need after a morning such as this. His guests usually didn’t see them, or at the least they didn’t interact with them. “They’re my simulacrum. They protect me and… others.” Remus didn’t want to say they protected others _from him._ “And they help me.” 

“I figured that must have been their purpose. When I woke up, they led me to you, and they helped me get you into bed. There was food and water and rags set out. I asked them for ointment and they brought it, but it took a long time for them to understand that I needed bandages…” 

Sirius became more comfortable with the telling of the story, and started talking with his hands, droplets falling off of the rag he was still holding. Remus couldn’t stop watching him; he had never seen someone talk to him with so little fear. He needed to stop, needed to harden his heart for the inevitable moment when Sirius would leave him alone again. “Why are you helping me?” 

“… Should I not have?” 

Remus immediately felt bad. “You can do whatever you want.” 

There was a long pause in the room. Remus tore his eyes away from Sirius, lowering himself back down on his bed hoping without reason that he would stay. 

After a few moments, Sirius hesitantly stepped forward and sat back in the chair. Minnie followed him and jumped on Remus, centering herself on his chest and purring. Sirius reached out to pet her, and then almost casually continued cleaning Remus’ arm. Remus noticed the slight hesitation, and knew it to be fear or disgust, but couldn’t bring himself to tell Sirius he could stop; he hadn’t felt human touch in so long. His eyes fell to the strange sight – Sirius’ beautiful, human hands, a regular cat, and a scarred, unnatural arm. He felt caught between them: human, animal, Beast. 

“She must like you.” 

Sirius’ small smile was back, directed at the tabby cat, and then faltered. “Where is my brother?” 

Remus should have seen that coming, what with how intensely Sirius had protected the other man the previous night. It flashed through his mind that he was glad they were brothers and not – more, but then chased the thought down as ridiculous. That may not have been his partner, but that didn’t mean he was unattached, and _why did he think that anyway?_ He needed a friend, and this beautiful man would never think of him as a lover would, no matter if he was unafraid. 

“I sent him home.” Remus thought about what he wanted to say, unused to talking for so long. “I am sorry for – how we met. I am surprised that you managed to arrive so close to me – so close to a full moon. The man – your brother, he attacked me –” Remus felt he was going about this very poorly, but Sirius’ face remained impassive. “I waited too long. I only meant to ask him if he would stay, but he seemed prepared to fight, so I had to keep him separate while I prepared the memory and transport spells…” Remus faltered, not knowing how to explain his actions. 

“Memory spells?” Sirius’ face was still blank, beautiful; wisps of his dark hair had fallen from where it was tied back as he bent over Remus’ arm. 

“I… took his memory. If rumor spread about… me, it would not end well, and I… am afraid.” Remus felt compelled to tell the truth, and ashamed; this full moon was proof that he could have put others in danger and bringing people here against their will seemed unjustifiable now. At the same time, Remus knew he couldn’t live with only himself; now that Sirius had come, he felt another dimension had opened up that hadn’t existed to him before, and he did not want to go back. 

Sirius was looking at him, open, understanding, evaluating. Remus wished he could understand everything in Sirius’ mind; how was he even still here? 

“What is the last thing he would remember?” 

“I believe, if my spell is correct, that he will remember the last thing before he decided to come to this pass, and no more.” 

Sirius seemed to think about that for a while, hiding his face towards his work; he set aside the rag and picked up the bandages. 

“Would you do the same to me?” 

Remus’ heart broke a little at the question. Sirius wanted to forget him. He closed his eyes and focused on replying as carefully as he could. 

“If you want. I’m not sure I could send you right away, but –”

“But if I wanted to stay? Or… I don’t want to forget…” 

Remus’ eyes snapped open, falling on Sirius’ face again. He couldn’t read the look in his eyes, and again wished he could know what was going on – why would he want to be here? Why would he want to remember? Without thinking, he reached out his other arm, making sure his claws were retracted before gently touching the pad of his finger to the back of Sirius’ hand. Sirius didn’t flinch. After a second, he turned his hand over, letting Remus’ touch fall to his palm. 

That was all it took; there was not a thing in the world Sirius could ask that Remus wouldn’t try to give him. 

“I told you, you can do whatever you want.” Sirius was looking at their hands and gave a small smile.


	5. The Library

Sirius knew his reasons for staying weren’t quite enough, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask to leave. 

The thought struck him again as he entered the library, walls filled with beautifully preserved books, half of which he would bet no one in the valley had ever seen. There was a fireplace at the far wall, surrounded with comfortable looking furniture and a thick red carpet, and Sirius wanted to pull a book off of the shelf and stay forever, as wild as that seemed.

At the beginning, he hadn’t meant to stay long. The loss of Regulus’ memories was one of the first reasons – his brother wouldn’t remember the conversation they had, he might not remember going to Sirius in the first place. He didn’t want to lose him, as if leaving this place would make that precious memory false, untrue. He didn’t want to go through the experience of seeing Regulus for the first time over again; he wanted Regulus back in his life, but it seemed too painful, too soon. Sirius couldn’t be mad at Remus for that, knowing his reasons – he hadn’t said so, but Sirius could bet that Remus thought he would be hunted by witches or warlocks if word got out of his presence, and he didn’t blame him. He could bet that the Blacks would want to do just that. 

And then he didn’t want to lose his own memories, of Remus himself. His eyes were so beautiful and expressive in a way that hardly seamed real; he couldn’t deny that he had been frightened, but he thought, just maybe, Remus was also frightened and more hurting than he had been. He was lonely, that much was obvious. He had taken longer than any normal being would when asked his name in a way that made Sirius think he hadn’t told anyone in years. 

And this was the first adventure Sirius had ever had, if staying in a strange Beast’s castle eating good food and sleeping on expensive sheets could be called an adventure. The fear had quickly subsided as Sirius found Remus to be an interesting, thoughtful, and kind companion. 

And Sirius felt inexplicably drawn to him. So he had stayed. 

And then, as they got to know each other more, there were things like this. 

“Do you like it?” Remus’ voice, deep as ever, made the hairs on Sirius’ neck stand up, and he turned to look at the Beast. His reaction to Remus’ voice was simply that it was deep, and somehow rich; Sirius thought he might be able to feel it through the soles of his feet.

“I love it. Remus, how is this possible? How many books does this library hold?” 

Remus’ head tilted, considering him. “I’m not sure, I’ve never counted. I believe there was a librarian, at one point… when… things changed… and I learned more, I was able to preserve it with magic. If not for that, many of these books would have been eaten by mice long ago.”

“Are you a warlock?” The words left Sirius’ lips without him intending them to; he had thought it several times over the last week as he saw more and more instances like this of Remus’ wild power.

First, it was the simulacrums; they seemed to have boundless energy, and he often thought they acted with more independence than he would have guessed possible. Remus had worked with Sirius to learn how to talk to them; they responded to him, but slowly, as if they had to translate what he was saying into some wilder tongue. 

Second, it was the castle itself; Remus had told him he put it back together with magic, after it had fallen. Sirius, even knowing Lily and the witches’ guild, knew of no one who would have been able to do that by themselves. And not only was it intact and standing but it was beautiful; the stone walls were etched with beautiful shapes and swirls. When Sirius had asked about them, Remus had told them they had appeared there after he reinforced the walls with his magic for safety. 

Third, it was things Remus did without even noticing it. He healed extraordinarily fast; it wasn’t even half a day after he had woken up that he took the bandages off, claiming his quick healing to be the result of Sirius’ care. He always seemed to know where his simulacrums were without looking, even when he was absorbed with something else, and Sirius had once found him reading a book that was hovering in front of him, inches above his outstretched hands. 

Sirius knew that kind of careless magic was no witch work; each of Lily’s spells were precise and measured, and while effective, they didn’t have the same power as this effortless magic. 

Remus looked at him, unblinking. 

“… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – that is, I didn’t mean to offend, I know you would do no harm –” Sirius found himself talking to fill up the empty space, trying to explain his words even to himself. 

“I don’t know what I am.” 

“– and – what?”

“I don’t know what I am, or how I came to be… this.” 

Sirius knew that something had happened here, at the house of the path, but he didn’t know what it was. He hadn’t thought before that Remus himself might have been changed – he was intelligent, and brilliant, and he had human eyes, but… what had he been before?

“… I’m… sorry?” Sirius couldn’t think of a good reply to that, not when Remus’ eyes seemed so sad. “I just thought – your magic is so powerful, and I’ve never seen anyone do it so effortlessly before…” 

Remus seemed to think about this. “I taught myself. Maybe so. Sirius, I’ve told you I’ve been here a long time… for me, it has only been twenty years, even though I know the world outside these walls has passed through one hundred. And I’ve taught myself everything about magic that I know. I don’t know much about warlocks besides that they are often bad, and that my mother scorned anyone who attempted their path...” 

Sirius wanted to ask questions, but Remus’ words came slowly, and he didn’t want to interrupt. He wanted to know everything about this Beast, this person, this man who he had only known for a short while, who talked about a mother with such care. 

“I only knew of the warlock Voldemort, who wished to become the Saint of Death. It was not a good path, and he did not complete it, but his followers caused a lot of harm.” 

Sirius shuttered. He had heard of Voldemort; his parents had admired his deeds, praising him as a powerful warlock who should have ascended to sainthood. Apparently, an ancestor of his had been one of Voldemort’s followers; Phineous Nigelous Black. 

“That does not need to be the path for you. Good warlocks exist, although they’re not very common. Surely, you must have books about that?” 

“I have books about a great many things, but witches and warlocks and saints are not among them.” Remus paused, looking as if he wanted to say more, and then turned; “I’ll leave you to the books. Please, read whatever you’d like.”

“Please, I’d like you to stay…” Sirius never knew what to make of the Beast. At one moment, he would be open and as easy to read as one of the books lining these shelves. At other times, he seemed harsh, and distant, as if he had forgotten how to interact with humans, as much as he wanted to. 

Sirius hoped that was the case now – that he wanted to. Sirius, for some reason, longed for his presence; he had been delighted this morning at breakfast when Remus had offered to show him the library. He had noticed that Remus did not force his presence on Sirius, seeming scared he would push him away; Sirius, knowing the uncomfortably empty quality of the halls, knew that would not happen. 

“… if you wish me to stay, I shall.” 

“I do.” Sirius spoke decisively, and then didn’t know what to do with himself. He ended up walking to a shelf and pulling a book down at random, only reading the title – “A Collection of Poetry by St. Trelawny” – before settling down at one of the large armchairs at the end of the room, hoping that Remus would follow him.

After some hesitation, Remus sat down on the rug; Sirius realized too late that none of the seats around the fireplace would accommodate him. Sirius slid down the chair and settled down on the rug as well, and then opened his book, eyes drifting through the expensive white pages without absorbing what was on them. He was surrounded by more books than he ever thought he would get to read, but here he was, only interested in the person across from him. Beast. Person. It didn’t matter. Remus. 

“Remus. Tell me. What is your favorite thing to read?” Sirius kept his eyes on the book, pretending to scan the pages. 

“… I’m not sure. I have liked many books, but… most of my reading has been my research.” 

Sirius looked up at him. “What research are you doing?” 

“I… I am trying to find a way to change back.” 

“Change back? What… who were you before?” Sirius cringed, sure that his words would be taken as an insult. 

Remus only looked at him. “I was a boy. I would be… I wonder if I can show you…” Remus got up and wandered through the shelves. Sirius could hear a low murmur of him talking to himself and ignored the small thrill that shot through him at the sound of Remus’ voice. 

Remus came back a short while later holding a children’s book. Sirius gave him a questioning look, and the Beast grinned – Sirius couldn’t help but feel a small surprise at the lack of fear in him at those sharp teeth, like the uncomfortable not-lurch when one expects to hiccup but doesn’t. He grinned back.

“I loved this book when I was a boy. I think I should be able to show what that boy looked like, and what he would look like as a man…” Remus sunk down to the rug again, less self-consciously this time. 

Sirius put his book away, giving up the pretense that he was reading at all anymore as he watched Remus draw lines in the air with the tips of his fingers. Soon, a shiny blur became visible, and settled itself into the shape of a small boy – a mousy looking boy, with wide eyes and wild curly golden hair. Sirius felt an odd realization run through him – that was _Remus_ , those eyes were _Remus’ eyes_ , and they were just the same, golden brown and full of expression. 

Then, the shape changed, growing taller and larger and older, until a mid-twenties young man stared back at Sirius, who had gotten to his feet. This man had Remus’ eyes as well, wide and beautiful, and this man was _breathtaking_. Sirius felt his stomach drop; this is the sort of man Sirius would not be able to stop thinking about, with his strong jaw and narrow shoulders, golden hair and bright expression, and for a second he thought he could see his Beast – Remus – in the man’s face. And then he looked at Remus, the real Remus, sitting on the floor but barely shorter than Sirius standing, and he saw the sadness in his eyes, the pain of a life ripped from its foundation. The shadow-Remus seemed somehow vacant in comparison. 

Sirius found himself placing a hand on the Beast’s shoulder. 

“You’re beautiful. But it’s missing…” Sirius didn’t know how to say what the image was missing; was it that Remus – the real Remus – had known pain, had lived, that made him seem somehow more human than this human-shaped image? 

“The scars.” Remus’ voice was harsh, unlike Sirius had heard it before. 

“No. It’s missing… a life lived. The life you’ve lived.” Sirius watched Remus, who took his words as the offering they were, and thanked him silently for them. 

Sirius took his hand back gently, and Remus stood up, standing closer to Sirius than he had before. “Please enjoy the library. I hope to see you at dinner.” And with that, he was gone, and Sirius knew better than to ask him back again. 

That night, Sirius dreamed of Remus.

They were walking together, as they had occasionally, talking about anything and everything. Sirius had just stopped at a window, looking out over the forest that lined the western edge of the castle. 

“Look, is that Minnie?” Sirius said, having spotted a little brown shadow coming towards the castle from the trees. He meant to comment that she looked silly, jumping and playing with something he couldn’t see, but as he turned toward his companion his words were stuck in his mouth.

He had been talking and walking with the beautiful golden-haired boy he had seen in the library earlier. How had he not noticed that he had been talking to someone of similar height, rather than walking faster than normal to keep up with the Beast’s giant strides? Was his voice higher now, or did it still have that deep resonance? He couldn’t come up with an answer. 

Remus leaned closer to him to look out the window as well. Sirius thought he could smell him, just the same as he always smelled, fresh like the forest and a little bit wild. “It looks like she’s playing with one of my simulacrums,” Remus grinned, and Sirius’ heart stopped. His eyes were trained on Sirius’ now, just as beautiful as ever, but then Sirius noticed the difference; this was not the same boy he had seen in the library. This Remus was taller, and bigger, not quite as big as the Beast but larger than he had seen before. And… his face was covered with scars. His eyes, bright with conversation, had _life_. He was more beautiful than the image in the library. He was the most beautiful person Sirius had _ever seen_. 

Remus seemed to notice him staring. “What is it? Are you alright?” 

Sirius couldn’t think to come up with a reply. His hand went out automatically, reaching for the hand Remus was offering him, and found himself tracing the scar he found on Remus’ arm. When he looked back up at Remus, he noticed a scar on Remus’ lip, that he knew to exist on the Beast. Sirius wanted to kiss it. 

“I’m alright,” Sirius said, and stepped forward to put his arms around his waist. Remus became stiff, returning the embrace gently. 

Sirius smiled to himself. Remus was always so careful not to touch him, not to scare him. Not to talk to loudly, not to show his teeth. “I’m safe here, you know. You would never hurt me.” 

Remus smiled into his hair. “I know.” Sirius could feel the rumble of his voice through his whole body. 

And then, in the way of dreams, Sirius found himself hugging the Beast; his head rested against the wide expanse of his chest, and he felt his large arms resting snuggly against his back, palms warm. 

He felt _safe_.

He woke up surrounded in his bed by Simulacrum. Somehow, they didn’t help him feel less alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I've planned this out for a long time, and I'm excited to write more!
> 
> I'm still really new to fanfiction and writing in general. I'm just having fun but I want to get better at it, so if you have any suggestions or comments or if anything isn't clear, I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> <3 <3 <3


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